Nowhere, I'm Not Going Anywhere
by dellums
Summary: "Established GerIta! A lazy Sunday morning. They both wake up but they're too lazy to get out of bed.  Or maybe Ita's lazy and is keeping Germany there . Don't make Italy stupid, please. I hate it when people do that " Fluff Meme fill; human names used !


_A/N_

_This… I found this on the Fluff Meme and wanted to fill it, so… here goes nothing._

_Prompt: __**"Established GerIta! A lazy Sunday morning. They both wake up but they're too lazy to get out of bed. (Or maybe Ita's lazy and is keeping Germany there). Don't make Italy stupid, please. I hate it when people do that~"**_

* * *

**Where do you think you're going?**

Ludwig's week started early **Monday** morning, at six thirty if not sooner. His alarm would always go off at six twenty-five, but it took him another five minutes to fully detangle himself from Feliciano's (surprisingly) strong limbs.

After the younger Italian had moved into his house, Ludwig had become even more motivated to wake up in the morning, for he knew that the sooner he got work over with, the sooner he could come back home. Back to Feliciano, back to a random (but good!) dish of Italian cuisine.

Monday nights, Feliciano's elder brother came over "_to make sure that damn Potato Bastard hasn't hurt you, idiot!_" and didn't leave until seven p.m., when Antonio called whining for dinner and (Ludwig suspected someone as lewd as Alfred or Francis would wink here) dessert. Ludwig didn't mind Lovino. Not at all. He was glad that Feliciano had someone else looking out for him, actually. He could certainly do without the silent, mafiaesque threats and well-aimed kicks to his bruised shins under the coffee table, however.

**Tuesday** mornings were sore. Ludwig would roll out of bed before his alarm sounded, just to stand and watch Feliciano for a moment longer. Later, the two of them were in the kitchen, groggy until the Italian was done with his hot mug of coffee (but dear god, only one), and then breakfast would be devoured.

World Conferences were typically held on Tuesdays (for some idiotic, American reason), so Feli took shotgun in the car on the way to the conference center. Music was never needed for the ride; the Italian rather enjoyed talking, and Ludwig rather enjoyed listening. It worked out nicely.

**Wednesdays** and **Thursdays** were reserved for "Boring Country Things" like politics and the economy (otherwise known as "The Days Ludwig Envied Gilbert"). Ludwig and Feliciano would part in the mornings at seven forty-five with a kiss and, if they were lucky, a one-armed hug. The German would have loved an extra minute those mornings, to allow for a _proper_ goodbye. But time was the one thing neither of them could sacrifice.

Generally, **Fridays** were slower. The two of them wouldn't rise until eight o' clock, and wouldn't be out of the house for another hour. Breakfast was savored, the coffee perfectly sweetened. When nine a.m. came around, Feliciano wrapped his arms comfortably around Ludwig and squeezed him lovingly from behind. Ludwig liked Fridays.

It felt as if the day didn't start until they each arrived at work.

By the time they got home, both were exhausted and much too tired to do anything. They collapsed in bed, ten minutes apart from the other, with murmured "good night"s in German and Italian.

"_Gutte Nacht_." Half-asleep.

"_Buona notte, Ludi_." Face buried in a pillow.

**Saturday** mornings should have been nice. They really should have. However, it was a pattern for Ludwig's own older brother to jump on the couple's shared bed _like a complete child_, and then demonically drag Ludwig out to a bar.

All before nine thirty.

Feliciano would blow his other half a kiss before rolling back over and snoring.

_How sweet._

It seemed to take an eternity for **Sunday** to arrive. Which was a pity, as Sundays were brilliant.

By the time their clock said eleven, both men were still in bed, close and warm and positively content. Each time Ludwig tried to get up (to start breakfast or do chores; anything), Feli would latch onto his arm and keep him right there_._

"Stay."

Ludwig would smile and fall back into the pillows. He anticipated (_craved_) the Italian crawling atop his chest lazily, just to keep him still.

"Why are you smiling?" Feliciano would ask, not able to hold back his own bleary smile.

No hesitation, just a kiss into his lover's hair; "It's Sunday."


End file.
